The Fight for Kidsboro (16 page)

“My dad … he really is in jail.” I felt deeply honored that he would trust me enough to tell me this. It almost made me want to share my own secret, just to show him that I trusted him as a friend too. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Instead, I looked into his eyes and said, “That doesn't matter.”

He smiled and turned toward the door.

“Welcome back, Roberto,” I said.

“Welcome back, Mr. Mayor.”

THE END

For Bryn, my firstborn.
The day you were born, the day you were baptized,
and the day you first spelled “photosynthesis” backward,
are still three of the best days of my life.
Thanks for giving those to me.

BOOK 2

The Rise and Fall of the Kidsborian Empire

1

THE MAD AND THE GLAD

S
NAP
!
M
AX BROKE THE STICK
he was holding. I glanced at him, and he looked at me with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. I couldn't help but smile, and this made him even madder. He glared at me one more time, and then left the crowd to go mourn the end of his reign as the most powerful man in Kidsboro, a community run by kids in Odyssey. Five of us had started Kidsboro months ago and our population had grown. We'd built clubhouses and small businesses in the woods behind Whit's End, an ice cream shop and discovery emporium owned by Mr. John Avery Whittaker, or “Whit” as most adults called him. And I, Ryan Cummings, was the mayor of Kidsboro.

Mark continued his presentation, pulling out a pocket-knife and cutting a window out of the tarp. The crowd around him watched with undivided attention. I was the only one who noticed Max leave. I had to follow him. I couldn't help it. I would enjoy seeing him squirm.

Max was forever tricking people out of their money. He always had at least three schemes going at one time. I couldn't understand how he was able to keep up with all of the lies he told.

Because his father owned a construction company, Max had a practically unlimited supply of scrap wood, which he sold to Kidsboro citizens for high prices. Of course, he was paid in Kidsboro money: starbills and tokens.

Max was not only the richest citizen in Kidsboro, he was also the most powerful. No matter how many schemes he pulled, I could never get the city council to kick him out because we needed wood. He could get away with pretty much anything.

But now … O glorious day! Now, we had just voted in a new citizen: Mark. His father worked at an awning company. At this very moment, he was showing us how to make the walls of our clubhouses out of plastic tarp instead of wood. Tarp had a lot of advantages over wood. First, there were no cracks that people could see through. Second, it was better for keeping the weather out. Third, it was easier and cheaper to build with.

People loved the idea. If everyone decided to go with the tarp, then we wouldn't need wood anymore and Max would be out of business. Plus, if he tried another one of his schemes and we found out, no one would hesitate to kick him out. At last I could be free of Max.

I caught up to him. “So, Max … what do you think about this tarp idea?”

“Go away, Ryan.”

“Looks like you may actually have to make an
honest
buck for once.”

He stopped suddenly and pointed in my face. “Do you really think I care diddly squat about this tarp guy?”

“It looked like you cared when you demolished that stick back there.”

“Let's just keep one thing in mind, partner. The thing that makes me the most powerful man in Kidsboro ain't the wood. It's the fact that I'm 10 times smarter than any of you. This tarp thing is a bump in the road. I'll be back. I'll own this whole place. And when I do … you'll be the first person I crush.”

He took off toward his home and I didn't follow. I knew he would live up to those words. I was in for a war.

2

THE BIG IDEA

M
AX'S MELTDOWN WAS THE
most exciting thing that had happened in Kidsboro for at least three weeks. School had been out for summer vacation for about a month, and it seemed like we didn't have enough going on to fill up the time. As mayor, one of my duties was to hand in weekly Kidsboro reports to Mr. Whittaker. Lately, he had commented on how boring the entries were.

My daily entries had been getting less and less interesting as the summer wore on. For a couple of days the only thing I had written down was, “I bought a raisin bun at Sid's Bakery.”

“It seems like everything has come to a screeching halt,” Mr. Whittaker noted.

“I guess we're in a rut. We're all just doing our jobs. Nobody knows what else to do.”

“I suppose that's not too much different from real life sometimes. But I certainly didn't think you'd be bored with Kidsboro in just five months.”

“What do you think I should do?” I didn't usually ask this question. As the elected official for Kidsboro, I wanted to solve things on my own instead of asking Mr. Whittaker for advice. He wanted us to solve our own problems too, so for the most part he wasn't involved with running the town. But This was a question I had been mulling over for a week. I figured I could use some help.

“It sounds like you need something to stir things up,” he said, scratching his chin. “Maybe a new government project, or a new business, or … something the whole town could be involved in.”

I agreed with him, but I had no idea what steps to take to make that happen.

“That's the coolest thing I've ever seen!” my best friend, Scott Sanchez, shouted as the car stopped right in front of him. It was Nelson Swanson's newest invention: a computer-programmable toy car. Eugene Meltsner, a college student and Odyssey's resident genius, had helped Nelson create the car. But he stepped back and allowed Nelson to soak in the limelight.

“Now watch this,” Nelson said, kneeling down next to the car. He began to punch numbers into a calculator that was glued to a couple of pieces of plywood on wheels. From The top, it looked very basic. But underneath was a sophisticated system of wires and computer circuits that would boggle the mind of anyone in Kidsboro—except Nelson. “I'm going to program the car to go to Sid's Bakery and return with a donut,” he said.

“What?”

“I enter number 12 for Sid's Bakery …”

“Um … excuse me for living, but,” Scott said, “you just tell the car to go to Sid's Bakery, and it knows where it is?”

“I had to preprogram it, of course. You see, yesterday Eugene and I spent all day surveying the dimensions of Kidsboro. I know exactly how many feet specific locations are from this spot right here.” He pointed to an X painted on the ground. “So we programmed the car to go 42 feet forward, three feet to the left to get around that tree, and then turn right and go 14 more feet right up to Sid's Bakery.”

He looked toward Eugene. Eugene handed him a tiny wagon. “Don't forget to activate the voice player,” Eugene whispered to him.

He hooked the wagon onto the back of the car and put three tokens, the price of one donut, into it.

Nelson punched some more buttons and stood up. “Now, instant delivery service.”

My mouth fell open as I watched the car go forward 42 feet, turn left and go three feet, and then turn right and go 14 feet. It stopped right in front of Sid's Bakery … and beeped its horn! Sid heard the beep and came out of his shop. He looked around confusedly, and then saw the car sitting in front of his door. The car said in Nelson's voice, “Could I have a glazed donut, please?” Sid obeyed without a word, as if this was a customer with arms and legs and absolutely no calculators glued to him. He came back with a glazed donut and placed it in the wagon, taking the tokens in return.

Sid looked around to see if there was a human responsible for this, and waved when he saw Nelson. He smiled. Now it made sense. We all expected things like this from Nelson. Nelson waved back. His voice came out of the car again, “Press the red button when you are done.” Sid obeyed, and the car backed up and retreated along the exact path it had taken to get there. It stopped right in front of Nelson's feet. Nelson casually bent down, picked up his donut, and took a bite.

“Nelson, that's amazing,” I said.

“How'd you get it to talk?” Scott asked.

“It's all in the programming.”

“It is precisely the same concept as an answering machine,” Eugene piped up, obviously unable to control the urge to explain something.

“I can't believe you made that,” Scott said to Nelson.

“It's definitely your best invention yet,” I added.

“Thanks. I've been working on it for about six months.”

“Do you think you could make me one of those?” Scott asked. “I'll pay you for it.” I wasn't sure where Scott was going to get the money for this. He was usually broke, but had made a little money with his detective agency during the spring. In a town as small as ours, there wasn't a huge need for a detective, but Scott had actually cracked a couple of cases.

“Sure,” Nelson said. “I can have one for you next week.” Eugene cleared his throat. Nelson turned and looked at him. “What?”

“Nelson, I believe I will be experiencing a very busy week at the college. Unfortunately, I do not think I'll have much free time to help.”

“Oh, okay,” Nelson turned back to Scott. “I guess it'll take me a couple of weeks.”

“No problem. You know, you could use this car for anything! You could deliver mail with it, or …” His eyes lit up. “I could use it in my detective work! I could rig it with a microphone and secretly drive it up to somebody's house and record criminals as they make their plans.”

“That would be illegal,” I reminded him.

“Who said?”

“It's in the city charter. We have privacy laws.” Scott's shoulders drooped.

“You still want the car?” Nelson asked.

“I guess,” Scott said.

There were plenty of legal uses for Nelson's car, and I was certain others would see that as well.